


Reconciliation

by alasondria



Category: Phantasy Star Online 2
Genre: F/M, Luthaly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26021398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alasondria/pseuds/alasondria
Summary: Echoing around them was Double’s cacophony of laughter, but the silence that swelled between them was more deafening than the haunting ambiance.Where to even begin?
Kudos: 3





	Reconciliation

**Author's Note:**

> awkwardly reconciling with ur gf u killed when u were both dark falz  
> also kind of but not really a part two of Complacency

“Awkward” could not well describe the situation in its entirety.

Standing before Luther with her arms locked tightly in front of her and an impossibly forlorn look on her face, was Alasondria. Echoing around them was Double’s cacophony of laughter, but the silence that swelled between them was more deafening than the haunting ambiance. Luther cleared his throat and chanced a step forward; Alasondria remained still, but her gaze averted to the side and she worried her bottom lip—she seemed to grapple with herself.

_ Little surprise, _ thought Luther. 

He had rarely if ever been ill-equipped to handle a situation; had never been the type to be at a loss for words. But as luck would have it, trying to face your colleague from centuries passed—the woman who remained your constant through the fall of your civilization and your own sanity, who was also the same woman you, in all your wondrously corrupted glory, struck down just some hours passed—and apologize to her was no small feat.

_ Where to even begin? _

“...Alasondria,” Luther started. “There is scarcely enough I can say to alleviate the way you no doubt feel towards me.”

She traced her attention back to the man ahead of her, her expression less woeful though an unreadable melancholy remained etched on her features. She inhaled and allowed her hands to fall to her side as she faced him earnestly.

“It is… hard,” Alasondria began. “It’s hard, Luther. What I felt towards you back then, what I feel towards you now… nothing has changed and I… I don’t know if I should be ashamed of it.”

Luther blinked, properly caught off guard. His mind races, turning what his former colleague admitted over and over, trying to parse what she had meant. Had she abhorred him even then? Or was it when he began to turn that the hatred seeped in? He struggled to find an adequate answer. He looked at her with furrowed brows.

“What you felt then and what you feel now; would it not be contempt?”

“Contempt?” Alasondria asked, almost tearfully—indeed perhaps even incredulously. “Luther, how could I ever hold any contempt towards you?”

“You—Alasondria, on the Mothership, I struck you down. Do you not remember?”

“Of course I do,” she said. “But you were not yourself and neither was I.”

Luther stared, bewildered at the woman before him. Her heart remained still so pure and so hardened in its resolve to never bear a grudge—she had never changed. From the time they met to now, Alasondria never bore him any hatred and she had confessed she never would. And Luther was perplexed. She should harbour nothing but the illest of will towards him, she  _ should _ hate him. She should curse, and despise, and spit his name and yet she swore that she did not and never will. Not even when his humanity was stripped from him and Loser’s control forced him to treat her miserably up until he ultimately cast her aside and forced her own downfall. It confounded him so wholly that it allowed a pause to take hold of their conversation, one long enough to worry Alasondria.

“Luther?” she said, stepping forward to touch her hand to his wrist.

He reflexively retracted his arm, but uttered an apology upon noticing her wounded expression. It was all so familiar and yet still so foreign.

“I fail to understand how you do not hate me, indeed you refuse to hate me,” he said at last. “I have caused you nothing but misery. I  _ killed _ you, Alasondria.”

“...A Falz killed me,” she offered after a beat.

_ “Alasondria. _ ”

“I know you insist that you and Loser are one in the same, but I won’t hear it. So to be more specific, a Falz killed another Falz.”

“Alasondria,” Luther tried again, his voice full of exasperation. “You are allowed to feel something about this. Why do you refuse to?”

“I don’t refuse to,” she countered, properly angry at last. “Luther, you know more than any that what a person experiences under a Dark Falz’s influence is nothing short of possession. Your body is host to a will you have no control over. You cannot sit here and tell me that those circumstances don’t apply to you.”

Luther’s gaze never faltered away from the woman before him, the air tense for a moment until he raised his arms in defeat and let out an airy chuckle.

“Still my same quick-witted assistant, aren’t you?”

Alasondria gave him an earnest smile and Luther cannot fight the way it vaults him back to that ancient era when they were two insatiably curious scientists reaching towards the uncertain future together. Some untold amount of centuries could not change the spark between them after all, he thinks.

“Would you walk with me?” Luther asked suddenly.

Alasondria tipped her head and smiled. “I would love to.”

He gave her a lopsided smirk and leaned forward, his arm bent at the elbow. Alasondria took it with a soft laugh.

“My apologies,” Luther sighed, putting his free hand to his face theatrically. “It isn’t the most conducive environment for a stroll.”

“Have we  _ ever  _ had a proper date?” Alasondria countered, her smile still beaming on her face.

“You make a fair point, my dear.”


End file.
